


In Ways You Can't Possibly Imgaine 2

by Telesilla



Series: In Ways You Can't Possibly Imgaine [2]
Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Alternate Universe - Prostitute, Alternate Universe - Vegas, M/M, Prostitution
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-05-06
Updated: 2009-05-06
Packaged: 2017-10-05 12:52:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,520
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/41914
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Telesilla/pseuds/Telesilla
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Rodney's not the easiest road trip companion John's ever had.</p>
            </blockquote>





	In Ways You Can't Possibly Imgaine 2

Looking at Rodney in the harsh light of the truck stop diner, John can't believe that only three hours ago, he'd thrown the kid down on a bed and fucked him. _What the hell was I thinking?_

And really, that's it--he hadn't been thinking. It had been bad enough to find that, in this other universe he'd found himself in, McKay was still a kid and on the streets too. But when he'd picked Rodney up and talked to him, he kept seeing little bits of the man he'd barely known back in his own universe buried under a veneer of mixed toughness and fear. And that had been too much; John had wanted answers and all he got was a teen-aged hooker. He'd been furious and frustrated and he'd taken it out on the kid.

Although really, he thinks, it isn't fair to say that all he got was a teen-aged hooker. He's got a destination now and a name, and any cop knows that a lead, however shaky, is better than nothing.

_And I seem to have company._

Watching as Rodney shovels a huge breakfast into his mouth at speed, John wonders if that's a good thing or not.

"What?" Rodney says, glaring at him. "I'm hypoglycemic."

"I had hollow legs when I was your age," John says without thinking. It's weirdly easy to talk to Rodney because, unlike his experience with the grown-up McKay, he's got the upper hand here.

"This is different. It's a medical condition." Rodney looks pissy and John sighs.

"Yes, I know that."

"I'm also deathly allergic to citrus." He takes another bite. "And bees."

"You carry an epi-pen?"

Holland had been allergic to bees and she'd always had an extra pen or two with her. Not that there had been a lot of bees in the deserts of Afghanistan, but you never knew.

"Yeah, with the extra condoms and lube." Rodney rolls his eyes. "Not on the street; I don't have the room for one. It's one of the ways to die I've thought of. One of the more upsetting ones, because I've never been shot, you know? But I've gone into anaphylactic  
shock a time or two so I know what it's like."

"Being shot hurts like fuck." John can't help it; he rubs at his chest. A few inches to the right and....

"Thank you for that bit of wisdom, Detective Sheppard." Rodney pauses. "You said that Wraith thing shot you?"

"Yeah."

"You really are a big damn hero." It's not sarcastic or hostile, but still, John flashes back to the motel room and feels his face go hot.

"Thanks," he says shortly.

"Sorry," Rodney says and he actually looks repentant.

"I just...I shouldn't have done that." John hopes he won't have to explain himself.

"But you did, so...." Rodney shrugs. "You said you'd been there before, so I don't know what your deal is."

"Seedy hotels and other guys, yes." John rubs a hand across his face. "Seventeen year olds, not so much."

Another shrug. "Did you know that the age of consent in Canada is sixteen? Of course, there's Section 159 of the Criminal Code, the section helpfully labeled 'Anal Intercourse.'" Rodney pauses and makes finger quotes. "It says no buttsex for you if you're not eighteen and unmarried, but two different courts have ruled that as unconstitutional." He grins at John. "Ottawa in '95 and Quebec in '98."

"The age of consent in Nevada," John says, "is also sixteen, but only for sex with another minor. Also, prostitution is illegal in Clark County."

"Ah," Rodney, says holding up a finger. "But you never actually paid me."

John laughs, just a little; the kid is a trip. "Okay fine, so we're back to the fact that you're seventeen."

"And how in hell are they going to charge a dead man with statutory rape?" Rodney gestures with his fork. "I think you have bigger problems."

"There is that."

"Well, now that that's settled, wanna fuck?"

John stares at him, aware, after a second, that his mouth is hanging open. "You're unreal."

"Coming from you, that's a compliment," Rodney says as he mops up the last of his egg yolk with a corner of toast. "And I don't really know why I asked. You'll say no, but we'll do it again."

There's a world of experience behind the matter-of-fact words and John suddenly wonders about what drives Rodney, why he chose the streets when there were other options.

Something must have shown on his face because Rodney rolls his eyes. "Oh God, you think you're going to reform me."

"I...." John's really not sure what to answer there. He's hardly straight and narrow himself--he thinks about the black satchel buried under some junk in the trunk of the car--but this is different. "What do you want me to say? I've seen who you become and...."

Rodney shakes his head and interrupts. "No, you haven't, and you really need to not do that. I'm not him. Maybe, although I doubt it, I'll grow up to be him, but right now making that comparison is useless and, frankly, kind of insulting.

"Look, I'm not some stupid teenager who ran away because he didn't know what else to do when the going got tough. I looked at all the options and made a well thought out decision."

"Oh yeah?" John asks, stung. "How's that working out for you?" He's remembering the crappy little studio apartment Rodney was living in and how all Rodney took from it was a back pack with some clothes and a laptop bag.

"Pretty damn well, actually. You'd be surprised at how much I have hidden away in various accounts." He pats the laptop bag next to him. "And it's not like I can't hook at night and work during the day. Hell, I've had some pretty impressive insights in the middle of giving a blowjob."

John doesn't really know Rodney well enough to tell if what he's seeing is real confidence or bravado, but he's guessing it's a combination of both.

"How about this?" he says and maybe it's a kind of defeat, but he's beginning to realize that he's not likely to win a war of words with Rodney. "I won't try to reform you if you won't try to seduce me."

Rodney glances down at his empty plate and then looks up a John through his eyelashes. "Okay."

John sighs; three hours in and it already seems like the longest road trip in history.

* * *

Rodney eats all the time and talks constantly, often managing both at the same time. Most of the time during that first day he's working over the problem of fixed wormholes, often wandering off on tangents that John can't really follow. It's embarrassing really; John's not an idiot and he has a degree in mathematics from Stanford, for God's sake, but still, much of what Rodney says makes no sense. It's a little surreal; the landscape outside doesn't really change as John drives through eastern Nevada and John could almost believe they were in an old movie with the same background looping past as the car stood still as Rodney delivers nine-tenths of the dialog.

Finally, around four in the afternoon or so, Rodney trails off. John glances over to find him asleep, leaning against the car door, a bottle of water propped between his legs and a smear of chocolate from a Hostess cupcake on his chin. John's breath catches painfully in his chest; unguarded and stripped of all defiance, Rodney could serve as the model for a Botticelli angel. A very _young_ Botticelli angel.

John looks back at the road. He doesn't get it. Sure, he's pretty gay, but he hasn't gone for boys this young since he was one. Last night, he tells himself, was just an exception; he was angry and confused and Rodney was pushy and available.

_You'll say no, but we'll do it again._

Rodney, John decides, was wrong.

He reaches out and turns on the stereo, keeping the volume low in hopes of not waking Rodney. The stereo had been his one indulgence when he'd bought the car and it had cost more the car itself, but now, as Johnny starts singing, John thinks it was totally worth it.

And now, with nothing but the road stretched out ahead of him, he finally has time to think about all the things he's been avoiding since he woke up in this world. First, after finding a doctor he'd heard of back in his own world, someone who patched people up for cash with no questions asked, he'd been healing. After that, he'd spent all of his time trying to find people, starting with one John Sheppard. In a way it had been a relief to learn that he was dead in this place; he really had no idea what he'd have said if he'd come face to face with himself.

After that he'd tried to track down Richard Woolsey and Rodney McKay. He'd found more than one Richard Woolsey (and more than one Rodney McKay, for that matter), but none of them were the right one; for all intents and purposes, Agent Woolsey doesn't exist here. Or if he does, John can't dig deep enough to find him.

As for the right McKay...well there he is, completely different from the man John had hoped to find.

It makes him glad he didn't try to find other people, people who had once meant something to him. He knows Holland is dead; she'd died with that other Sheppard. But what about Dave? His parents? For all John knows, his father might still be alive.

_And what would you do? Show up on their doorstep, the very image of their dead son or brother?_ He hadn't gone to them for help in his own universe and they aren't even _his_ family in this one. No, better to assume he has no family here; it's only the truth, after all.

"Where are you?"

John blinks, wondering how many miles he's driven while on auto-pilot. "In another universe," he says without thinking.

"Better than this one?"

"I don't know yet," John says, keeping his eyes on the road. "I don't have the debt here that I racked up back over there," he adds, trying to keep it light.

"You've got a fair amount of cash for someone in debt."

"Have you always been this observant?"

Rodney snorts. "I'm a scientist; it's a vocational hazard." When John can't help glancing over at him, Rodney frowns for a moment and then surprises John by laughing. "Okay yeah, I know...I'm hardly the picture of genius, but seriously? I'm quite possibly the smartest person you'll ever meet."

"Why'd your grant fall through?" John could have put a snide twist to the question, but he doesn't.

"I thought you knew everything about me."

"It's possible I might have exaggerated a little to get you to talk." John shrugs with one shoulder. "Vocational hazard, you know."

That gets a real laugh. "Touche, Detective." And then Rodney fell silent for a long moment, staring out of the window.

"You know that it was a US government grant, right? Not something through Cal Tech. In fact, the school wasn't really sure they wanted me that young, but the CIA was worried that some Canadian school would snap me up. Or maybe the Brits; I think there was someinterest there too."

"Why?"

"I built a nuclear bomb for a science project when I was thirteen. Not a mock up, but a working model that would have devastated Ottawa if it I'd had access to uranium."

"That's...impressive."

"It's okay, most people don't know what to make of it. I'm a headcase, you know; I should totally be seeing a shrink and talking a lot about my mother."

"You and me both," John says with a grimace.

"Yeah?" Rodney waits but John says nothing. "Anyway, the CIA might have been willing to accept the homosexuality, and God knows they'd have probably encouraged the occasional drug use, but me wanting to concentrate on theory instead of...shall we say, practical applications? That, not so much."

"They probably know you faked your death." That little stunt had slowed John's investigation down a bit and led to a couple nights of heavy drinking, but he isn't about to share that with Rodney either.

"Oh, I'm sure of it. I'm also pretty sure they know what I've been up to in Vegas. They probably hope that I'll come to my senses and come crawling back when I get tired of giving blowjobs." Rodney snorts again, and John can see the echo of the older man on his face where his mouth dips down.

"I didn't see anyone actually tailing you."

"Oh please. I mean, yes, I have an exaggerated sense of my own importance and all, but I'm still not a big enough threat that they'd have someone on me." Rodney turns and gives John a broad grin. "At least that's how they see me."

"Should I be watching my back?"

"Nah, I'm more of a finger on the button, doesn't like to get his hands dirty, type of mad scientist. You need anything blown up though, I'm your guy." Rodney glances down at his lap top bag. "Also, hacking. I'm really good at that, which pretty much makes us the perfect pair for one of those reluctant buddy action movies."

"The next summer blockbuster."

"I'm also really good at blowjobs," Rodney says, and John blinks a little at both the segue and the new topic. "I just want that out there because you didn't actually get the full on treatment."

"Jesus, McKay!"

"What? I'm also a better lay than you got last night."

"I thought you weren't going to try to seduce me."

"That's your idea of seduction?" Rodney shakes his head. "Trust me, when I seduce you? You'll know."

And really, there's nothing John can say to that.

"Do you mind?" Rodney asks, pulling a CD holder out of his lap top bag. John thinks about the music he liked when he was 17 and winces a little.

"Sure," he says, ejecting one of the Cash CDs. _Anything that keeps him from talking about sex._

"God, it's easy to fuck with your head," Rodney says as the first sprightly bars of something classical pour out of the speakers. "You should see your expression."

"Give an old man a break, kid," John says. "What is this?"

"Mozart," Rodney replies. "It's a little simple, but listen...wait for it...."

It's odd music, somewhat more cheerful than John expected, and then Rodney nods. "There, that horn. It's still a bit...oh, I don't know, happy happy, right? But you've gotta love a French horn."

John can't imagine anything less suited to the desert outside; this reminds him of the palaces he saw in Europe where men with powdered wigs and women with big hair and bigger skirts once listened to this sort of thing while the peasants outside starved.

"It's like he couldn't decide if the horn was leading or following, but it doesn't matter, it's...there's something almost solemn about it, no matter how pretty the music around it is."

"You're a musician too."

"No," Rodney says quickly, turning to look out his window. "A technician."

There's silence for the next while and John finds himself listening to the music. At first it takes him back to uncomfortable suits and charity concerts and his mother's rich friends all cooing about how much he'd grown since last time. But then, as he pays attention to the horn and blocks his own memories, he can almost see what Rodney meant.

"Two fixed points," Rodney murmurs. John glances over to find Rodney staring through the windshield now, his fingers moving on his thigh as if he were typing or playing a piano. "It comes down to forcing a wormhole to stabalize between those two fixed points and then holding it there long enough...it must take massive power."

"Back on the stargate thing?"

"Yeah. It's hardly a new idea, at least as far as science fiction is concerned; you should see the arguments on the internet about the physics of _Wormhole Extreme_."

"He said...McKay, I mean...." John pauses, trying to get the words right. "He was talking about powering something else, this chair thing that was part of a weapons system, but he said it ran on a power source that extracted energy from vacuum space."

He shivers a little, remembering the odd feeling he'd gotten in that room, the strange, almost subliminal hum that made him want to scratch as if it were under his skin. Maybe that had come from, what had McKay called it? The.... "Zed PM. Said we'd call it a ZPM."

"And he didn't say what the letters stood for?"

"I didn't ask."

"Jesus," Rodney mutters. "I'm surprised you acutally remember."

"I've got a pretty good memory."

"And you've told me everything he said about the stargates?"

"Yeah," John says. "It wasn't much."

"The problem with trying to figure this all out--I mean aside from the fact that you really didn't ask nearly enough questions--is that it's found technology. So he...they might not even know how it all works."

"Sorry, but I was kinda trying to solve a serial case at the time."

"Well, I suppose you can be forgiven, but it leaves me with very little to work with." Rodney frowns at John as if he hadn't actually forgiven him.

"You're a fucking trip," John says.

"I get that a lot."

Rodney goes back to muttering about wormholes and vacum energy and John tries to keep his eyes on the road. It issn't easy; he's tired and the effects of his last Moutain Dew wore off a little while ago. Finally, as much as he hates to admit it, he knows he's got to get some sleep.

"I'm gonna have to pull over and let you drive," he says.

"Yeah, but no," Rodney says. "Can't drive." When John stares at him in surprise, Rodeny shrugs. "Oh, I'm sure I could figure it out pretty quickly, but it's not like I've ever needed to."

"Figure it out on someone else's car," John says. "I'll just pull over at the next rest stop and nap for a few."

Rodney digs out the road atlas he'd picked up at the truck stop. "Twenty five miles up the road there's a tiny little town. They probably have a Motel Six."

Although John's pretty sure he doesn't want to spend the night in a hotel room with Rodney, he has to admit that the prospect of a shower and some air conditioneding sound really good. "Two rooms," he says firmly.

"Okay," Rodney says. "I'm sure I can find some business. Maybe there's a truck stop."

"Damnit, Rodney...."

"What?" Rodney gives John a big-eyed look.

A half hour later, John's sprawled on the bed in their room, listening to the sound of the shower and wondering if he'll make it through the night. Rodney had stripped before going into the shower and while he'd been matter-of-fact about it, John had still found himself glancing at his ass. He's not sure if Rodney noticed, but it doesn't matter. Yes, the kid has an ass to die for--and the rest of him isn't bad either--but that doesn't mean that John's going to take advantage.

"You want some help with that?"

John blinks and stares up at Rodney. "Huh?" He rubs his eyes and it takes a minute to realize that he'd fallen asleep while Rodney was showering.

Rodney sits down on the bed and rests a warm hand high on John's thigh. "Looks like you were having a good dream." He runs a finger lightly over John's fly, and John swallows hard.

"Stop it." He doesn't sound as certain as he'd like and so he rolls away from Rodney and sits up. "Can I trust you not to go out and pick up a trick in the time it takes me to shower?" he says, his voice cutting and hard. "Or is that just too much to ask?"

"Fuck you," Rodney mutters, turning away.

John feels like an asshole as he heads into the bathroom. _He's just a kid and he's not sure of himself and he's scared and he's doing the only thing he knows will give him some control or power and...._

John remembers being seventeen, the confusion, the anger, and the weird defiant embarrassment that went hand in hand with being rich. He wouldn't have lasted a week on the streets of Vegas; that Rodney's done it for a year says something about just how tough he is. And how focused.

Rodney's asleep, or at least faking it well, when John comes back into the room. Settling down next to him, John sighs. "I'm sorry," he says softly, but Rodney doesn't stir.

With another soft sigh, John rolls over and lets himself fall asleep.

_-tbc-_

**Author's Note:**

> This took a little longer to get out than I'd have liked; sorry about that. I'm going thank [](http://darkrose.dreamwidth.org/profile)[**darkrose**](http://darkrose.dreamwidth.org/) for looking this over.
> 
> Three other things. One: this has been bugging me ever since I sat down to think about it: how did John have a picture of Rodney? Fortunately, I worked that out and since it's not something that will show up in the narrative, I'mma tell you here. Between the time he left Area 51 and the time he quit his job, he did some digging and found the picture from some list of attendees at a conference. He found out very little about Rodney, but kept the pic, intending to use it to track down more info about him. It wasn't that John really cared that much about Rodney--although yes, he did think Rodney was checking him out--it's more that for a guy like this John, information is power and Rodney knew a lot more about him than he did about Rodney.
> 
> Two: I assume that we didn't see all of the conversation between John and Rodney while John was at Area 51, so while I'm mostly concentrating on the things said on camera, I'll refer to things that we never saw on the show.
> 
> Three: The CD Rodney plays is a recording of Mozart's Horn Concertos 1-4. While John may not think of it as road trip music, it totally was in my family (along with the Muppet Show Album and a fair amount of yacht rock--finding something that two adults, one teenager and one grade schooler agreed on wasn't always easy).


End file.
